


Prelude to a Guard Tower

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battlefield, Established Relationship, Fog, M/M, Quintuple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon meets Maedhros in the midst of battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to a Guard Tower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Himring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Looking at the Stars and Counting the Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/872276) by [Himring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/pseuds/Himring). 



> This was written to fit in with Himring's Gloom, Doom, and Maedhros series, and is set at some point a couple of years after the Dagor Bragollach, as Maedhros' and Fingon's forces fight to re-establish the more direct roads between Barad Eithel and Himring.

Dark storm clouds lowered down over us, leeching away the light. We could see the fog coming before it hit us, like a wave, from the North. I cried out, a defiant wordless yell, and all my soldiers shouted too, the same wordless defiance. We were shouting at the darkness itself, at the Darkness Itself. Our swords and armour flashed in the pale gloom like wisps of flame, and our fiery arrows streaked into the gathering darkness. 

They came with the mist, but we were ready. At the last minute I caught a flash of a deeper, brighter colour in among the pale burning swords and the white armour. Maedhros had come to join the fray, and my heart leapt up. His sword whistled through the air as he cut down Orc after Orc, keeping his seat easily on his horse with his knees. 

We made our way to each other through the battle like opposite poles of magnets, inevitably attracted, and at last were fighting near each other. When my horse was cut from under me - beautiful Mithroch, I would mourn her later - I leaped down to the ground, and for a moment was unsteady on my feet. Arrows were falling to skitter amongst the stones at my feet. The ground was unsafe to stand on. 

Maedhros could not spare a hand, but gave me a pointed, eloquent, glare, so instead I jumped up, catching him about the waist, and sliding onto the back of the horse behind him. I could not fight like this, nor could he, but his horse - the mighty Belegroch, descendant of the hunting horses of Oromë - was fearsome in battle, and lashed out with his hooves, making a path for us to escape into the trees. 

Gloom was all around us, along with the clash of weapons ringing, growing further and fainter in the distance each moment. My arms were still about his waist and my head had come to rest on his shoulder. 

"We're nearly at the encampment, Findekáno," he said, and his voice sounded harsh with wear, though the tone was gentle enough. I held him tighter in response and felt, more than heard, his laugh. 

"I know," he said. " _I know_." And he lifted one of my hands and brought it to his lips, just for the smallest of moments, the lightest of caresses, but it burned through me like fire. 

"When this is done," I said, very softly in his ear, "meet me in the guard tower three miles east of here, I think it was one of Angaráto's, and not too badly damaged." We arrived at the encampment just then and I slipped off the horse, catching just the edge of his silent nod and the brightness of the light in his eyes as he turned back toward the battle. 

Several of my folk rushed toward me as I strode forward out of the mist. "I only require a horse," I said. "There is a battle yet to win!"

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the line I've always loved from [Looking at the Stars and Counting the Hours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/872276): _"We’re making love in a pile of damp bedding on a dusty hearth rug in an icy guard room in a forlorn outpost in a war we’re going to lose—and I only wish that were the worst of it."_ :)


End file.
